


Wired for Action

by Lycaste



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Light Angst, Other, Overlord being Overlord, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, awkward times to ask for dates, bomb disarming, djd adventures, the biggest asshole you know has a crush on you
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 16:03:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11581431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lycaste/pseuds/Lycaste
Summary: As Tarn and the DJD struggle to disarm a bomb hidden deep inside a Decepticon base, Overlord proves surprisingly helpful.





	Wired for Action

**Author's Note:**

> So after TF Con Toronto everyone has been making all these amazing Tarn meta posts and it inspired me to dust off and complete one of my many half-finished DJD adventure fics. sorrynotsorry
> 
> Warning: this plays extremely fast and loose with the physics of explosive devices.
> 
> Also speech in parenthesis, "(written like this)", means that Vos and Tarn are speaking Old Cybertronian to each other.

 

In Tarn’s opinion, searching for the bomb was bad enough.

The sub-basement level of Achroest Base was in appalling condition. Used as a general storage area while the outpost was being constructed, it had since become a dumping ground for everything that middle management didn’t want to utilize. Every corner housed piles of secondhand medical supplies. Immense chest freezers the size of Tesarus were scattered carelessly. Patches of the floor sported a greenish patina that Tarn didn’t dare examine too closely out of fear that it might be organic material. The whole area was disorganized, foul smelling, and replete with enough dust to choke both his intakes and his sense of propriety.

When the bomb threat first came through, his instinct was to pour all his efforts into discovering the perpetrator. He and his team were a group of highly trained operatives skilled in the arts of interrogation and punishment. As such, their talents were better suited for tracking down the loathsome traitor who made the threat, rather than looking for the device itself.

Yet the pillars that provided the supporting structure for the entire site began in the sub-basement. If that level blew, any Decepticon not killed in the blast could be crushed in the subsequent collapse of the base. With so many lives at stake, Tarn had immediately gathered the DJD and marched them to the stairs. Duty called, after all. And Tarn was not a mech who shirked his duties.

A hand suddenly clamped around Tarn’s wrist and pulled him backwards. He stumbled against Helex, catching himself in time to watch a huge freezer crash into the spot where he had been standing.

“Sorry, Tarn,” said Helex. His optics roved over Tarn to confirm that he hadn’t been injured. “You okay?”

Overlord’s smiling face appeared from behind a pile of boxes. “Heads up,” he called cheerfully, even though the freezer had already slammed to the ground. “Well, it’s not under there!”

“I’m fine, Helex. Thank you.” Tarn fussed with his fusion cannon and ground his teeth behind the mask.

Searching for the bomb was bad enough, searching for the bomb with _Overlord_ was rapidly becoming a nightmare.

Kaon rounded one of the pillars with the Pet in tow. “You thought you’d find the bomb underneath a cooler that was sitting directly on the floor?”

Helex chortled, and Tarn himself smothered a snicker. Kaon had a way of asking questions that, despite his outward detachment, came off as absolutely scathing.

“Which one are you again?” asked Overlord. He pointed to the Pet. “And why did you bring that... _thing_?”

“It’s a bomb-sniffing sparkeater,” said Kaon. He stroked the top of the Pet’s head, heedless to the drool dripping from its gnashing teeth. With a whine it lurched from Kaon’s grasp and attacked Overlord’s leg. Unable to puncture the ununtrium, it settled for gnawing fruitlessly against Overlord’s plating.

“Why is it always trying to bite me?” Overlord pulled his leg back as if readying for a kick.

“Oh no you don’t.” Kaon’s shoulder coils began to buzz. “Don’t you dare kick him.”

“Enough!” Tarn dropped his voice low enough to make the rest of them shudder. “Our mission is to locate and disarm a volatile explosive, or have you forgotten? Kaon, no electricity. Overlord, stop throwing things.”

Kaon nodded. “Yes, of course. Apologies, Tarn.”

“Yeah yeah,” said Overlord.

Before Tarn could reprimand further, Tesarus’ voice echoed across the basement. “Hey guys, we found it!”

Rushing towards Tesarus, a heavy ball of dread settled in Tarn’s fuel tanks. Up to now, he’d had his doubts that the threat was real. A large part of him assumed they wouldn’t find anything, and could then begin the messy but necessary business of discovering and punishing the miscreant who created the hoax.

But if the bomb was real, then what? Important resources were at risk. Innocent Decepticon lives were in danger. If something went wrong, Tarn would be the one to explain their failure to Lord Megatron.

The thought of disappointing Megatron caused Tarn to lose his balance. He clipped his side against a pile of scrap metal as he ran by, too charged to feel it. _I’ll fix this,_ he promised himself. _No matter what, I’ll solve this situation somehow._

Reaching Tesarus and Vos, Tarn slowed and approached the bomb. Affixed to a pillar at the height of Vos’ head, it looked far less menacing than Tarn would have expected. It seemed to be comprised of five long cylinders with various colored wires connecting them. Set into the middle cylinder was an LCD screen that read “20:02”. And then “20:01”.

Keeping his voice calm, Tarn said, “I’m hoping you’ll tell me that means twenty hours.”

Vos shook his head. “Miiinutesss.”

“Least it ain’t seconds,” said Tesarus with a shrug. He stuck something into his mouth and slurped loudly.

Tarn ignored him and knelt to place a comforting hand on Vos’ shoulder. The scientist’s field was pulled in tight, concentration laced with little spikes of alarm. Not a good sign from someone who ordinarily enjoyed the thought of death and dismemberment. “(Report? Any good news?)”

Vos continued inspecting the bomb. “(Bad news and terrible news.)”

Tarn’s spark fell. His T-cog was on the verge of engaging. He managed to wrestle the urge into submission, but it left a clawing itch throughout his lines. “(So you can’t disarm it?)”

“(No,)” said Vos. “(I think it’s a Messatine Special. Multi-stage tritonal shells surrounding an enhanced nucleon core. Simple enough to do extensive damage, complex enough to detonate if anyone tries to disassemble it.)” He touched a ball of red and purple wires. “(These lead from the timer. It’s _possible_ that cutting one of them will stop the countdown and thus stop the explosion. Or not. Without more time to study it, I can’t say for sure. That’s the bad news.)”

“(What’s the terrible news?)” asked Tarn.

“(The terrible news is that there’s a good chance that everyone on this base is going to die.)” Vos pointed to an approaching Overlord. “(Except for him.)”

Tarn shuddered. That _was_ terrible news.

“Is that it?” said Overlord. “How boring. I was hoping for more flashing lights or a funny manifesto attached to it. So what’s the big deal?”

“The big deal is that our best option is to cut a wire and _maybe_ stop the countdown,” said Tarn.

Kaon examined the bomb with his sightless optics. “This timer’s electric. Maybe I could short-circuit it. Would that work?”

Vos’ vocalizer clicked a few times before he settled on stilted Neocybex. “Zzzaaap...boooom!”

“Point taken,” said Kaon.

“Yes, in fact, why don’t you stand over here.” Tarn gently herded Kaon away from the bomb. The thought of any member of his team falling victim to a traitor’s plot was sickening. Unable to help himself he transformed, rolled a few circles, and transformed back to root mode. But indulging in the act made the urge more powerful, so he repeated the process a few more times before landing on his feet and saying, “Any other suggestions?”

Overlord was staring at him strangely, one side of his mouth ticked upwards. “You’ve been transforming an awful lot since we came down here.”

“Back off him, Overlord,” said Tesarus. He paused to give another sloppy lick to the pink cylinder in his hand. “He’s trying to think, which I know is a foreign concept to you.”

“Keep talking to me like that and you might hurt my feelings,” said Overlord. “What are you eating?”

“Energon popsicle,” responded Tesarus. “I got bored while Vos was working on the bomb and looked around. The freezers down here are full of them!”

“Tesarus,” growled Tarn. “I need you focused on the task at hand. Also, those popsicles are thousands of years old. They could make you sick.”

Tesarus finished his treat faster, as if speed were a factor in whether or not degraded energon could make one ill. “Focus. Okay. Here’s an idea.” He spread his hands wide, the blades in his chest whirring. “Magnets.”

“Magnets,” repeated Tarn, at a loss. “What about them?”

“We could, I dunno, use magnets to stop the bomb.” Tesarus’ blades slowed along with the pace of his words. “Or something.” 

Vos dropped his head into his hands and groaned. Kaon pressed his lips together like he was trying not to laugh. Helex scoffed and said, “Nice plan, Shockwave. Maybe we could use the magnets that we don’t have to open a portal to the anti-bomb dimension and just drop it in.”

“Excuuuse me,” said Tesarus. “This kinda slag doesn’t exactly fall within my purview.”

In Tarn’s opinion, the poorly thought out magnet idea was somewhat ameliorated by Tesarus’ efforts to exercise his growing vocabulary. It was important to praise one’s subordinates when they made improvements. Especially when those improvements involved interest in the arts, language, or a deeper understanding of the Decepticon cause. Now if only he could get Tesarus to write more thorough mission reports.

“Purview.” Tarn rolled the term around in his mouth, tasting it. “Good word, Tesarus.”

“Thanks,” beamed Tesarus.

There was a loud scraping sound as Overlord dragged over a chest freezer larger than his own frame. He opened the lid and rummaged through it. “Stop mollycoddling them, Tarn. It makes them weak, and then you’ll be insufferably morose when they die.”

Helex presented Overlord with four middle fingers before saying, “Hey, what if I dropped the bomb into my smelter? Maybe it would melt.”

“(I’m about to detail all the reasons why that’s a stupid idea,)” said Vos to Tarn. “(Please translate.)”

Tarn rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “(It does beg a useful question though. Can the bomb be removed from the pillar?)”

While Vos examined the attachment points of the bomb, Overlord handed a popsicle to Helex and Kaon. He then put one in his mouth, his lips closing around it in a manner far too suggestive.

“Not my preferred last meal but not the worst,” said Helex. As his hand neared his mouth, the heat from his smelter reached the treat. It dissolved into a puddle on his chest and ran down his fingers before he could taste it. He glowered at the sticky mess, his smelter bubbling.

Overlord burst into giggles. “Awwww. Do you need help? Tell you what, I’ll hold it.” He held his own popsicle at crotch level and grinned. “And you can lick it.”

“I’d rather lick the bomb,” said Helex with a huff.

Vos tapped at Tarn’s side. “(This looks like an ordinary adhesive. We may be able to pull the bomb from the pillar, but I can’t say whether that would set it off.)”

“(We could rip it off and run it outside,)” mused Tarn out loud.

“(Not recommended,)” said Vos. “(It would take the rest of the countdown to get it to a safe distance, and it could go off at any point. Best not to jostle it.)”

Tarn laced his hands behind his back, wringing them together in an attempt to not scratch at his mask. What should he do? There were no good options, no easy solutions. Nothing that would result in a satisfactory outcome.

One thing was obvious. He couldn’t, _he couldn’t_ , live to tell Megatron he’d failed.

“Go,” said Tarn. “Make haste to the upper level. Kaon, when you’re back in comm range, signal an immediate evac.”

Kaon frowned. “You’re coming with us, right? You mean we’re all going?”

Tarn steeled himself. They weren’t going to like this. “I’m going to stay and cut one of the wires. Perhaps that will stop the countdown.”

“Nope,” said Tesarus, the X across his face flashing. “Not happening. We don’t leave mechs behind. That’s not how we do things.”

“You do things how I say you do them,” said Tarn sharply. “Go. That’s an order.” 

His team scowled at him and shuffled their feet. Tarn’s throat tubing tightened. They were such a good group, the best one yet. So loyal to the cause. He was proud of them. Too proud to let them die. “LEAVE,” he roared. 

Kaon shook his head sadly, shoulder coils drooping. But he tugged on the Pet’s leash and turned to run for the stairs. Tesarus and Helex followed with an open, forlorn note in both their fields. Vos put a hand on Tarn’s leg. “(Good luck,)” he said.

“(Sound the evacuation,)” said Tarn, “(and then get to the _Peaceful Tyranny_ and take off. Don’t try to help anyone else. Don’t wait for me.)”

Vos nodded and scurried away.

Straightening, Tarn cast a suspicious eye towards Overlord. The massive mech was still standing there, a bemused expression on his face. “You’re not leaving?”

Overlord slung an arm around Tarn’s shoulder and squeezed him close. “No way. It’s you and me, fearsome DJD leader. What’s the plan?”

“We’re going to give them ten minutes to get the evacuation process going, and then I’m going to cut one of the wires.” Tarn glared at Overlord’s arm. He couldn’t decide what was worse: the fact that Overlord was touching him, or the fact that the camaraderie was, in the moment, dangerously approaching something comforting. “Please release me.”

Stepping away, Overlord held up his hands in surrender. “And what happens if that doesn’t work?”

“Then it’s been miserable knowing you,” said Tarn evenly.

“For a gang of terrifying torturers, you’re all so emotional.” Overlord reached into the freezer and pulled out two more energon pops. “Here. I have it on good authority that these are thousands of years old and could make you sick, but if you’re gonna die anyway…”

Tarn’s lips pulled into a half grin despite himself, and he accepted the treat. He lifted the mask slightly, enough to expose his mouth, and licked at the pop. A cool burst of flavor hit his sensors. It did taste a little old, but it was refreshing and sent a shiver of pleasure through him. He shuttered his optics and nibbled delicately.

They ate in silence for a few minutes. When Overlord spoke again, his voice was laced with the slightest fuzz of static. “I like the way you enjoy things,” he murmured.

“Oh?” asked Tarn. “Why?”

“Because you give yourself so freely to it, like you’re experiencing it for the first time. Listening to music. Eating. Wreaking havoc. It’s all so...” Overlord paused, fixing Tarn with a stare that felt like dissection. “…sensual.”

Tarn swallowed. As irritating as it was, he far preferred the version of Overlord that was obnoxious to the one that was intense and flattering. “Which wire should I cut?”

Overlord licked at his own fingers, blessedly allowing the sudden change of subject. “What are the options?”

“Purple and red.”

“Really?!” squealed Overlord. “Perfect! Do red.”

“I was thinking Decepticon purple,” said Tarn. He sucked the final piece of the frozen dessert into his mouth, threw away the metal stick, and clicked his mask back in place.

Overlord repeated the motion, throwing his own metal stick at the bomb. “Nah, slice through Autobot red.”

Tarn held his tongue against chastising Overlord for throwing things at an explosive device. It would just make him do it again. “Red _is_ the color of Lord Megatron’s optics.”

“Whatever. It’s the color of most Decepticons’ optics,” said Overlord. “Well don’t tease me. Do it already.”

“Five more minutes,” said Tarn. “My team needs more time to sound the evacuation and try to get further away.” He began pacing in front of the bomb, his steps switching between the heavy clunking of feet and the rolling of tank treads as he transformed back and forth.

The strange look was back on Overlord’s face, as though he were wearing his own mask to cover something calculating underneath. He let Tarn pace for a few minutes before he inquired, “Why do you transform so much?”

“I don’t-“

“Yes you do,” said Overlord.

“I’m…it’s simply a distraction. Something to keep the body occupied while the mind works.” Tarn stopped at that. He didn’t need to explain himself to Overlord, of all mechs.

Overlord nodded. “A nervous habit then? Like the way you pick at your mask?”

Tarn failed to prevent himself from wincing. Nervous habit couldn’t begin to cover the sense of both pleasure and _relief_ he gained from slaking the desire to transform. As for scratching at the mask, it was something he truly had tried to stop. Having Overlord point it out suffused him with a sense of angry mortification. “Spare me your tawdry psychoanalysis,” he snapped.

“Easy, little tank,” said Overlord with a vicious grin. “I’m just trying to understand the mass of contradictions that make up your hot mess of a personality.”

“Is that so?” sneered Tarn. He stomped up to Overlord and jammed a finger in his chest. “Pry all you want. You’re little more than a rabid turbofox that Megatron keeps on a short leash. You have your uses, but you’re more one-dimensional than the Pet. Go ahead and play your embarrassing mind games before you make your equally embarrassing assassination attempt. I am _not_ afraid of you.”

“I know that,” said Overlord breathlessly. “That’s _why_ you’re so compelling. And I’m not planning on assassination, you idiot. I want to understand you because I like you.”

Tarn clenched his fists. “Try it. I’ll be ready for you. Then you’ll go on The List and I’ll-“ He stopped, Overlord’s words churning through his processor. “What?”

“I like you,” repeated Overlord. “If you survive this, wanna go on a date sometime?”

“A date?” Tarn recalibrated his audio sensors to make sure he’d heard correctly. When was the last time anyone had asked him on a date? Most mechs were terrified of him, and before the reformat…

Before the reformat was something he tried not to think about.

Overlord nodded. “You know, a social meeting as a form of courtship? We could have dinner or crush some Autobots. Or we could hunt down the mech who planted the bomb together! Torture him until he’s screaming in wholesale agony, begging to die. That would be fun.”

Tarn’s eloquent nature failed him. He knew he should be saying no, or more accurately, he should be saying that he’d rather date a pile of flaming garbage. That would be a similar experience, minus the obnoxious whistling and ridiculous lips.

Yet Tarn was painfully aware that it wasn’t as though he had a lot of romantic prospects, what with his high rank and intimidating command of linguistics and poetry. And Overlord _was_ attractive and, on occasion, somewhat amusing. He had a respectable knowledge of all things Megatron. In his own way, he was also quite non-judgmental regarding a lot of topics. Overlord would probably be open to any freaky slag a mech could imagine.

Tarn’s mouth went a little dry at that thought.

Dark fingers waved in front of Tarn’s face. “Helloooo. Overlord to Tarn. You still in there? I know I’m stunning but don’t get too overwhelmed. It’s a date, not a conjunx ritual. And you might not live to capitalize on such a magnificent opportunity, so cut the damn wire already.”

“Right.” Tarn pulled himself out of his disgusting-yet-enticing reverie. He moved to the bomb and clicked the tips of his claws together. “The wire.”

Overlord crowded behind him, leaning to rest his head on Tarn’s shoulder. “Cut the purple wire.”

“Purple!? I thought you said red.”

“I changed my mind,” said Overlord. “But wait, I just changed it back. Do red.”

Tarn danced his fingers back and forth over both wires. Seven minutes. If this stopped the bomb, he’d be a Decepticon _hero._ Or it could do nothing. Or it could go off. He had to choose, but which one?

“Do red. No, do purple. No do red!” Overlord’s EM field pulsed erratically, spiking in intervals of amused excitement. “You smell good,” he whispered.

“Shut up,” growled Tarn. He ripped through the purple wire with his index finger.

The timer didn’t stop. If anything, it accelerated.

_No!_ Tarn jerked his head back, nearly colliding with Overlord’s chin. His fuel pump began to thunder. His hands shook. In a fit of desperation, he cut the red wire.

The timer went even faster, reaching six minutes in a dizzying spin that made Tarn nauseous. He watched, dazed, as half a minute passed in fifteen seconds.

The timer read 5:30.

Despite the advanced speed, Tarn felt like time was slowing down. His insides were hot and weak. There was a dull roar in his audials. His fingers wandered to dig at his mask. “No…no…”

“Uh ohhhh,” sang Overlord. “You’d better go.”

Tarn couldn’t move. His limbs wouldn’t work. His frame seemed to belong to someone else, detached from his horrified processor.

“Tarn, seriously, get out of here.” Overlord shoved him away from the bomb. “Come on, we can’t go on a date if you’re dead. You’re probably well armored enough to survive if you get some distance. Run, and I’ll dig you out after.”

“But…the base.”

Overlord laughed, nonplussed by the fact that he was standing near a device that was about to level an entire building. “We lose bases everyday. This one’s not that strategic.”

Tarn’s internal cabling trembled, shaking him until his treads were swaying. “My team,” he pleaded. “And all those Decepticons.”

“Replaceable,” said Overlord.

“But they’re loyal!”

Overlord looked at him, confused. “So?”

A bitter thread wound its way around Tarn’s spark. “Of course. The cause means nothing to you. How absurd of me to assume that you could possibly care about anything but yourself.”

“Don’t be so melodramatic.” Overlord leaned against the pillar and crossed his arms like he was a bored mech waiting for public transportation. “You don’t care about those mechs any more than I do. You care about one person, and you’d rather die here a martyr than live as a failure in his optics. That’s the real reason this is all so upsetting to you.”

When Tarn was younger, a faceless mech with a different name, his fury was ice. Cold and empty, directionless. With the help of Lord Megatron, over time, that fury transmuted to fire. Blazing and all encompassing, a light that set him in motion and freed him with purpose. The same fire kindled within him now. He clenched his fists and set the fusion cannon on standby, rage lifting him blissfully from despair. “Don’t. Don’t speculate upon things you can’t understand. Your vulgar lips don’t deserve to feel the glory of his name.”

Overlord grimaced. “Yuck. Torture me with your voice before your awful poetry. You know what your problem is? You bow too eagerly. Me? I force him to push me down. You’re an acolyte. I’m a challenger. Now which one do you think a gladiator would respect more?”

Insides quivering, teeth gnashing, Tarn balled his right hand into a fist and punched Overlord in the face.

The force knocked Overlord’s head into the pillar but did little damage. He took a step back, smiling. “If I wanted a kiss I would’ve called Megatron!”

“You’re pathetic,” spat Tarn. “Shallow and ungrateful. Your only uses are a taste for destruction and the fact that you’re…” He faltered, the realization slamming into him.

The timer read 1:30…1:15…1:00…

Overlord smirked at him, playful and expectant. “I’m what? Sad that you’re gonna die before we could clang?”

“You’re shielded with ununtrium,” whispered Tarn. With a final thought of the cause, he closed his hands around the circumference of the bomb, tore it violently from the pillar, and threw it into the nearby open freezer.

“Nice try,” said Overlord, “but I don’t think that thing’s strong enough to contain the blast.”

“I don’t either,” said Tarn. “But maybe you are.” He leveled his fusion cannon at Overlord’s shoulder and fired.

The burst of energy sent Overlord spinning backwards. When his legs stumbled against the freezer, Tarn jumped on him. They toppled into the cold storage unit together. Overlord on top of the bomb. Tarn on top of Overlord.

Sputtering and flailing, Overlord had enough time to snarl something incoherent before there was a muffled boom. The floor jolted. A series of cracking sounds filled Tarn’s audials. Something cut into the side of his leg. The air filled with the stench of smoke and burnt mech fluid.

Eventually the rocking stilled, and Tarn huddled against Overlord’s chest as dust and small pieces of debris rained down onto them. He was somewhat disturbed to notice that Overlord smelled rather pleasant too. “What type of polish do you use?”

“Something I got from Sixshot,” wheezed Overlord. There was a thin line of energon running from the side of his mouth. “I hate you by the way.”

“The feeling is mutual,” said Tarn. Entranced, he wiped away the energon, his thumb running along the bottom of Overlord’s sultry lips. “And if I find out that it was _you_ who planted that bomb, I’ll make an example out of you that’s so painful, so horrifying, that Decepticons will be gossiping about it in huddled corners for millions of years.”

Overlord cycled his optics and gasped. “You think I’d…that I would? Tarn, you wound me.”

“I don’t know what to think,” said Tarn. “But my investigation will reveal the truth. It always does.”

“No,” said Overlord. “I mean you’ve literally wounded me. I think my back is warped. Ow.”

Tarn straightened and peered over the edge of the freezer. It had sunk into the ground. The floor around them was cracked and destroyed, large pieces of it sticking out at odd angles. The air was hazy and thick.

But the pillars stood. The base hadn’t collapsed. Everyone was uninjured. Well, almost everyone.

“Mphff.” Overlord struggled but only succeeded in flailing his limbs. “I think I’m stuck.”

Tarn climbed out and picked his way carefully through the rubble. From the outside he could see that the bottom third of the freezer had melted. It appeared Overlord had been an effective shield against the blast. With nowhere to go, the majority of the force had been directed downwards. That would explain the damage to the floor. There was probably a long tunnel underneath Overlord’s body.

“I think everything’s melted around you,” said Tarn.

“A waste of good energon popsicles,” bemoaned Overlord. He glared up at Tarn. “A little help?”

Tarn brushed the dust from his plating. What a bother. He’d need hours of cleaning to be pristine again. “Of course. I’ll send someone to cut you out.”

Finally a look of genuine irritation crossed Overlord’s face. His upper lip curled, orbital ridges knotting together. “You’re gonna use me as a shield and then leave me here?!”

There was a chance that part of Overlord’s frame itself had melted into the floor. The thought filled Tarn with glee. “I really must be going. This level is in dire need of repair and someone should call off the evacuation. The cause appreciates your sacrifice though.”

“Tarn?” Overlord called after him. “TARN!”

“And I’ll consider the date,” yelled Tarn. “Think about your favorite opera!” With that, he began the long walk to the upper levels, head held high like the true Decepticon hero that he was.

Perhaps searching for the bomb with Overlord wasn’t so bad after all.

 

 


End file.
